Free Pretending He's Mine by Lauren Blakely

to get her power back, and she planned to before she fell even further under the spell of his words, his tongue, his fingers, and those eyes that drowned her in desire. She pressed a palm against the denim of his jeans, and he responded with a long, low moan. She grinned wickedly to herself. Oh yes, this was going to be fun.
    She looked one way, then another. No one was near them. They were in the far corner of the stacks, all alone on a Wednesday afternoon. She heard no footsteps, only the faint ticking of a wall clock somewhere and then a low hum, likely a heater. There were surrounded only by books, by facts and fictions of Renaissance men and women trying to map their lives from the moon and the stars.
    “There’s really only one way to know for sure if this is the ideal location for the famous library scene,” she said, and began unzipping his jeans. She looked up at him, as if to ask if it were okay. But she wasn’t really asking. She just wanted to see the surprise in his eyes, and yes, it was there. He hadn’t expected this. She could tell there was a nervous side to him right now. But as she reached her hand inside his briefs, feeling the hard length of him, she knew he wasn’t going to back down. He felt amazing, long and thick and sculpted. Velvet soft outside, rock hard inside. She could have spent all afternoon playing with him, toying with him, delighting in the perfection of his size. But there was work to be done, and orgasms to be achieved, and the clock was indeed ticking. She kneeled down. Keeping one hand wrapped firmly around the base, she kissed the tip. He let out another quiet moan, and when she glanced up, she saw him leaning back against the books and he bit down hard on his lip. She teased him for a few seconds with her tongue, and from the way he twined his fingers into her pinned-up hair, he rather enjoyed the feel of her lips on his long, hard length. She wanted to run her tongue from one side, then the other, tasting every inch. She wanted to savor his deliciousness and take her sweet time getting to know every fabulous inch of him. But instead, she wrapped her lips around him, and brought him all the way into her mouth.
    He gripped her hair tighter, as little sounds and moans escaped his lips. As she moved up and down, bringing him as far into her throat as she could, wanting him to feel completely surrounded by her warm, inviting mouth, she gazed up at him. His eyes were shut hard, and his features were screwed up in a look of exquisite pleasure. At last, she thought. She could do to him what he’d done to her. She could take charge of his pleasure. She could ensure that he would be the one feeling waves of sweet release wash over him. She wanted to tell him, “Don’t worry. I’ve got this,” but she had a feeling he wasn’t worried at all. Besides, her mouth was quite full. She teased him with her tongue and her lips all over, pressing her hands against his strong, hard thighs—toned from all that cycling—for balance. He grabbed at her hair, and that made her even wetter, knowing how close he was.
    She wanted to touch herself at the same time. She was aching, longing desperately for him to lift her up so she could wrap her legs around him and slide onto him, riding him here in the library, all the while suppressing her own desire to scream his name in pleasure. She was a screamer, that’s for sure. She was a loud one, and she never held back.
    But she could take care of herself later. This moment was for him. Because pleasing him would give her back her power. She wouldn’t feel so helpless. He was a perfect specimen of hotness in every way and she couldn’t resist bringing him in deeper.
    “Sutton,” he moaned, and that made her tighten her lips around him. She loved that he was so far gone into the feeling that he had to say her name, that he couldn’t keep quiet. Soon, he rocked his hips into her, and she went faster, as more low and quiet moans met her ears. Then he